Seven Minutes in Heaven
by Va Vonne
Summary: As a last hurrah, the Slytherins decide to cause one more night of mischief before Voldemort's final plan finally takes action. Though Draco Malfoy can only think of one person he'd rather spend his last night with, who happens to be one Hermione Granger.


**Vonne: **This is just a little one-shot and I hope many of you take the time to read it. I spent some time on this, so any feedback would be absolutely appreciated. Whether or not it is a good or a bad review, I would love to hear from you.

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**Seven Minutes in Heaven  
A One Shot by Va Vonne **

For a moment the white peacock strutted in the middle of a massive yard. It cocked his head and continued to walk proudly across the emerald lawn, as if unaware towards where to wander off to next. The choices, however, were endless. The yard in which the elegant animal stood was unquestionably great and each edge wandered off into the darkness. Below the feet of the beautiful bird, the dewy grass shimmered in the sparkling moonlight and, checking around the darkness once again, the peacock strutter forward and stopped, pausing once again, catching sight of the glowing shadow that stood watching it. Momentarily, the two white figures stood still and then, as if nerves had got the best of it, the peacock let it's eyes wander off and it continued its strut. The emulating figure on the grand balcony leaned forward, and let his arms rest on the stone railing. His sigh echoed through the back of the yard and even through the darkness of the night, he was captivating; even the vain emulating bird couldn't keep himself uninterested. Draco Malfoy shook his head. Why hadn't they got rid of the thing?

He pondered inquisitively, why they hadn't gotten rid of the yard and the fountains, either? They didn't need to impress anyone anymore. He knew as well as any of them knew, the war was eminent. So close were they to the end and all his parents could worry about was the crown molding. And the more he thought about it, he wondered why they'd kept the whole damn house.

The funny part was that no matter how nice the outdoor lighting was, or how grand the chandelier was above the dining room table, Draco knew what was to come. He had heard his father talk about it as if it were the apocalypse; Lord Voldemort was going to take over the Ministry, Hogwarts, and the Wizarding World. This was it, it was over and the Death Eaters would soon reign alongside Voldemort.

He should be happy and he knew it, but his thoughts were elsewhere. No matter how hard he'd tried he couldn't think of anything else he'd rather live through. Surely his mind was under a great amount of stress. Often times he was absolutely certain that he simply wasn't thinking right. And maybe it was because he wasn't sure about the whole Death Eater ordeal in the first place, or because he wasn't sure he saw a proper world with Voldemort running it. But it certainly had been affecting this other thoughts, because on usual nights, he didn't spend hours thinking of Hermione Granger.

Granger. The thought of her had only just seemed to make Malfoy's blood run cold. At one point he had loathed her, had fancied seeing the day when she'd be banished from Hogwarts. However, there was much about this thoughts towards her that had dramatically changed. He had started to loose interest in blood statuses, had even begun to feel the slipping enchantment of being a pure blood. Hermione Granger haunted his mind, despite his urge to shake her from it. She was so different from the other girls he meant and thinking about her made him feel vulnerable. _Stupid_, he hissed at himself before he could let himself think of her again. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

What he'd wanted to be thinking about was the chance of the new world that the Dark Lord had promised. He'd wanted to be thinking about recovering his family's name, of bringing the Malfoy's back out of shame. There was hope in sight and why Draco wasn't entirely happy about this was curious to even him himself. He'd begun to contemplate scaring the bird again, but something behind him beat him to it. At the sudden appearance of a dark shadow behind him, Malfoy jumped a mile before the peacock even noticed.

Tthe intruder was beautiful, though she emulated a dark sort of sultriness about her. Short and dark, her hair hung just underneath her chin. She tilted her head back and laughed when Malfoy jumped and her laugh was that of someone alluring, yet impossibly cruel. She walked towards the edge of the balcony, one foot in front of the other, and crossed her wrists on the edge of the thick white balcony. Her voice was an intimidating purr, but when she spoke out loud, she was undoubtedly joking, "they still can't get rid of the peacock, can they?" She said with a slight giggle, "you know, my parents still have their grand statue. The snake with the eyes," with a little shutter, she finished, "I mean, I'm as thrilled as everyone else is about this whole ordeal, but that thing still gives me the creeps." Her face froze in an apprehensively gleeful stare and she waited for Draco to return her little giggle.

Malfoy's eyes scanned Pansy for a moment and then, when he'd finally managed to collect himself, leaned forward back on the balcony again. His sigh was a mixture of being both sick and tired. "How is it in there?" He cocked his head back towards the kissing doors of the mansion. Inside, the little get-together had really taken off. Of course, even Malfoy knew that the Death Eater's party wasn't just that simple. He knew what he'd been told, which was to be direct and well-mannered. His mother had even advised him to keep his posture straight. Just before the first of his paren'ts guests arrived, his father told him to try and remain greatly unnoticed. He asked about the party cautiously, though once he did so, he wished he hadn't.

"How _isn't _it in there?" Pansy said with a giddy tone of voice. Her pretty face instantly brightened. She flashed her straight white teeth and said with a whisper, "it's so exciting, isn't it? We're so close to the end!" Whirling around towards Draco, Pansy's visage was a blatant thrill. She seemed to breathe with a sense of excitement and readiness, her chest heaving up and down with each heavy breath. The air around them whistled and whirled at their new fit of silence and the beaming smile on her face fell when she'd noticed the lack of enthusiasm on Draco's face. She nudged him slightly with her shoulder and he swayed slightly, allowing her soft blow to affect him. "Why is it you look so disappointed?"

At once Draco straightened his posture and squared away his jaw. He said back to her rather defensively, "I am not disappointed." But Pansy stood unconvinced. She chewed maliciously on her sultry bottom lip and then, after scanning his face throughly, let any ounce of hope melt away completely. Her shoulders sunk and she backed away as if he'd struck her.

"Merlin! Draco, you really _are_ disappointed!" At once her hand flew up to her mouth and when she let it drop back down, she couldn't seem to let her focus leave Draco.

Malfoy's face twisted. He pushed himself from the side of the balcony and he ran his pale hand through his blond hair. The gray print of the Dark Mark caught the sight of the moon and Pansy watched it, seemingly floating before the Malfoy, before it flopped back at his side. If Hermione had heard him now, she would have been unquestionably pleased. He found himself wishing that when he'd opened his eyes, it would be Hermione standing across from him, instead of Pansy Parkinson. However, upon prying his eyelids apart, he found that his desire had not come true. Standing there straight, Pansy watched him blankly. "Pansy," he said, and he tried his best to force a convincing lie, "I am not disappointed-- what reason would I have to be? This is it! Father says it's so close he can _taste_ it."

Pansy shook her head. She cut him off instantly and, over Malfoy's protesting voice, she said desperately, "why do you _always_ listen to what your father says? I was actually under the impression that you could think for yourself."

Draco's blood boiled. Inside the house, he heard Bellatrix's horrible laughter and he stumbled back towards the balcony, "don't patronize me, Pansy," he hissed, but Pansy didn't seem to get the hint. He heard her delicate little heels make their way in his direction and he swallowed hard, sighing to himself once again. When he noticed her presence next to him, he didn't dare look back at her. Instead he searched anxiously for the strutting peacock that had seemed to have wandered off to someplace unseen.

The dark hair whipped mercilessly around Pansy's face. When she opened her mouth, she whispered, "your heads unscrewed, Draco. It's natural to be nervous now. And-- and you have been... else where, lately. Crabbe himself has even noticed and from what I've heard, the Dark Lord has, too." Through her speech, Draco stood frozen. He heard what she'd been preaching, though he couldn't help himself. Bubbling anger rose in his chest, thumping like battery acid, it whirled through his veins. He'd heard this speech before from his mother. He'd only wished he could figure out what was wrong with him. Because, currently, he wasn't exactly sure where his mind had gone off to. "You need to be reminded what it's like to _be_ a Death Eater. You're just forgetting about how it used to be. It's stressful now, I know, but it's all worth it, Draco. It's all going to be worth it!" At Draco's unconvinced stare, Pansy's eyes flickered. She stepped slightly forward and kept her eyes locked into his, "here," she said, and she tried to fix a smile back to her face, "come with me."

Before Draco could open his mouth to protest, Pansy lunged forward and took his hand in hers. She wasted not a moment of their time. It wasn't long before the two of them had crossed the stone balcony and made their way down the towering steps out into the Malfoy's grand backyard. They crossed the sparkling grass and when they'd come to the hidden doorway at the end of the Maloy Manor, Draco looked back at Pansy curiously. She said nothing, but instead bent forward and pulled the door open, revealing the large basement. A group of shadows took over Malfoy's view and before he could make out who had been down there, he heard a familiar voice exclaim up to him, "ah, there he is!"

There in the basement stood Crabbe and Goyle, glasses of liquor in their hands. Beside them was the dark outline of Blaise Zabini, who probably had only just been invited. Blaise didn't say a word up at Draco, though he nodded in his direction and raised his drink up high. "We've been worried about you, you know," Crabbe said, but his tone was that of pure lightheartedness. At the glazed look in Crabbe's eye, it became obvious to Draco that he was heavily intoxicated. Crabbe's eyes glanced up at the roof and, raising his drink, he asked, "How's it going up there?"

Pansy stammered as she stepped forward, "let's forget about what's going on up there, hmm?" She once again took on the impression of looking undoubtedly relaxed. When she crossed the basement with her hands on her hips, she looked greatly disheartened. "This is what you've been doing in my absence, boys?" she asked, striding over to an empty glass bottle on the floor. "How positively _disgusting_."

Crabbe hiccuped, "oh, don't kid yourself, Pansy," he said with a twinkle in his eye, "were you not the one who I had to practically _c__arry_ home from fine dining about two weeks ago?" From her spot across the room, Pansy tossed the bottle aside and it hit the cushion of the couch in the corner. Even under the little light in the basement, Pansy noticeably flushed a deep shade of horrified scarlet.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Vincent!" She hissed as her eyes found Draco with an embarrassing amount of desperation, "I'm sure you're thinking of someone else..." She found her way back to Malfoy and in a little whisper, she leaned close, assuring him, "he's delusional, of course."

"Oh," Draco managed to say back to her, "surely." Pansy grunted and forced herself to stride forward once again. When she'd come to the middle of the basement floor. she tossed her hands in the air as if she'd had absolutely nothing left in her.

She gazed around at her miserable excuse for company, complaining, "we've got to liven this place up. You call this a party?"

Crabbe shook his great head. Tilting it towards Blaise, he said gleefully, "no, but it will be. Blaise has invited some friends by. They should be arriving here shortly."

"Friends?" Pansy's tone was that of an angry serpent. Locking eyes with Crabbe menacingly, she said back harshly, "what friends? Surely not any girls, eh Crabbe?"

"Muggles girls!"

"_Muggles?" _If Pansy had been surprised before, she surely had outdone herself. There was a flood of anger in her eyes and she rounded on Crabbe, despite his drunken state. When she'd come about an inch from his face, she looked as if she were about to spit in it. Her eyes flashed bitterly and she raised her palm before slapping him hard across his fat face. She could have fallen over when she'd cried, "how dare you--?"

Crabbe looked oddly shocked by the blow and he sat slumped on the floor, staring astounded at his spilt drink. Goyle, however, came to the rescue of his friend. Draco watched stunned as Goyle looked back up at her. He said nervously, "relax, Pansy. Everyone's stressed right now, all we wanted was to have a little fun."

Pansy's face took on a murderous stance. She could have leaned down and smacked Goyle just as well. Instead, she appeared to have almost fallen over. "A 'little fun'?" she roared, but at once she found herself frozen on the spot. "Oh." Pansy reeled back and Draco looked on curiously. Goyle had lifted Crabbe to his feet and Blaise kept oddly quiet in the back of the basement. "_Oh!_ I get it." At once a devilish smile spread over Pansy's face. "Very clever, Blaise."

But Draco stood still. His eyes scanned the room before he spoke out unsurely. His throat was a cutting croak when he said out loud, "call me thick, but I have to admit I'm lost over here."

Pansy's smile was still very much present. "Blaise here did a very bad thing, Draco," she purred. But Draco's face remained absolutely blank. "Seems as if we will be having our last hurrah." The pit of Draco Malfoy's stomach churned. His chest dropped. At once, his sore throat ran completely dry. Pansy's face under the little light was oddly anxious and even as beautiful as she'd looked, there was something horrifying about her standing there. The corners of her mouth lifted her face into that of a sharp smile and she extended her hand out towards Draco, her fingers still and frozen. "Come on, Draco," she said almost lovingly, "no more doubts."

**------------------------------------------**

Doubt, however, was almost _all_ that Draco Malfoy was feeling. He sat in the corner of the room with his hands gripping the neck of his liquor bottle. His mind was going crazy; if anyone upstairs figured out what had been going on, these girls would never make it home. Some years ago, Draco would have loved this opportunity, but even he had known that whatever he had been then had obviously left him. He didn't want to admit he'd changed, but the persisting desire to converse with Hermione had so consistently told him otherwise. So, he stood in the corner, watching the three Muggle girls, his vision growing hazy with every passing drink.

"This is great, isn't it?" The voice of Crabbe echoed in Draco's ears and he spun around to meet the boy, who had perched himself on the side of the couch. " Draco didn't say a word. However, his own nervous instincts led him back to the bottle, which he touched to his lips instantly.

"How-- how did you manage to get them _here?" _

Crabbe laughed. "Blaise managed to get them in once he'd met them this morning in London." Draco decided that he surely did not want to know the intentions of Blaise in the Muggle World. "Turns out Muggle girls are really easy. Know what I say, Draco?" Crabbe said, nudging Draco with his thick arm.

Truthfully, Draco really didn't want to know. "What?"

"I say they deserve it. See that one over there? The blonde one?" With a pudgy little finger, Crabbe pointed to the blond in the corner. Her hand was wrapped around the neck of her own bottle and she was laughing uncontrollably next to Blaise, who looked as if he had questionable intentions behind his glistening eyes. "Once she gets really drunk, Blaise says he's gonna hex her with '_Densaugeo'."_

Malfoy blinked rapidly. Once he'd settled himself, he found the strength to muster out, "clever." But Draco didn't find the idea anything of the sort. In fact, he'd wished he could hex the girls home. He found himself desiring to be in the basement along with Hermione, a random thought that he could not for the life of him shake out of his head. Feeling stupid and flushed, Draco swatted the idea away as if it were a bothersome fly.

The two Muggle girls, they had not a clue what was going on around them. Every so once in a while they would look up at the ceiling and ask what could possibly be going on upstairs. The were fascinated with the size of the house, and when they'd asked for a tour, it was a jittery Malfoy who'd finally opened his mouth to shout, "no!" But that was all he had said the entire night, much to the disappointment of the Slytherins' unknowing guests. They conversed back and forth to each other quietly and had eventually drank so much that their whispers had turned into such a yell that Malfoy had to anxiously curse the entire basement. He'd flopped back down on the couch when he'd done his work and ignored the glances he was for his paranoid behavior. However, the Muggle girls seemed to find it quite thrilling to watch Malfoy pace the room, seemingly muttering nonsense verses to himself. They had kept whispering back and forth and Draco saw Crabbe's nose crunch when he heard one of them murmur to the other, "see that pale boy? The one over by the couch? Why is he sitting over there? He's literally been there the _whole time._" She seemed rather annoyed, but Draco pretended not to hear her complaint and he focused his eyes inside the glass of his alcohol.

"Oh, I know!" Exclaimed the blonde when she had pulled away from whispering in her friend's ear. She sat straight, flicking her hair back over one shoulder. She had, in fact, been playing with her long mane the entire night so far. "But he is _gorgeous." _And the two of them broke out in a fit of giddy giggles. Hearing this, Blaise turned to Malfoy, raising his thin brows.

A devilish look passed over his dark face and he mouth back to Malfoy maliciously, "how easy."

Crabbe shook his fat face. He hissed through his own shut teeth, "Muggles."

"Oy!" Came the drunken cry of the redheaded girl in the middle of the room. Her hair was not just red, but it glowed a bright shade of fire trunk scarlet, like that of an engine. It took a moment for Draco to realize that she'd achieved this color from a bottle, rather than by simply waving her wand. "You know what I like to do at parties?"

"No," Pansy said. She had kept her distance the entire night, as if getting too close would rub off on her. And though she was the only one that was undoubtedly sober, it didn't keep her from acting friendly to the two girls in the meantime. "No, we don't know," she said again, "enlighten us."

"When I'm at parties, I usually play a little game called 'Seven Minutes in Heaven'." She paused for an instant and then strode over to Crabbe, plucking the empty bottle out of his pudgy hands. "You sit in a circle and spin the bottle and whoever it lands on has to go in the closet with the other person for a whole seven minutes."

Pansy's face was blank. "So, you stand in a closet? Where's the fun in that?"

Both the girls laughed and when they'd finished wiping the tears from their cheeks, the blonde said again, "What? What have you lot been doing with your entire adolescent lives? Never played 'Seven Minutes in Heaven', have you?" When the group's faces remained unaffected, she let her shoulders sink. At once she rose from her spot on the ground, or at least attempted to, and stumbled to the center of the room carelessly. "You're in the closet for a whole ten minutes with the other bloke," she explained, "-- or lady, for that matter. In the dark. Whatever happens," she stopped and added with a little shrug, "happens." What she didn't notice, however, were the smiles that slipped over Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise's faces. They exchanged dark looks and then finally Pansy clapped her hands excitedly together.

At once Malfoy lunged forward. The way he whipped himself off of the couch, he looked as if he might land flat on his face. When he did manage to pull himself into the light, his face was twisted in a mixture of anguish and desperation. However, at the perplexed glances he instantly received, he feverishly regained himself. What was he thinking? They were only Muggles. Why was it that he suddenly found himself caring so much? Surely it wasn't because of all the time he had spent thinking of Hermione...

Instead he composed himself, straightened his posture, and said flatly, "come on, guys. How old are we?"

But Pansy wouldn't have it. She gave Draco a long lasting stare and then spun back around, her face back to its usual cunning state. "You know what?" She said with a tone that was almost friendly. Draco hoped that the girls would not buy into it. However, their faces were undoubtedly excited. "I think that sounds like a _fantastic_ idea." At once she strode over to Draco and took him by the arm, escorting him to the middle of the room. As they made their way to the center, she whispered back to him, "get a hold of yourself, Draco. What's the matter with you?"

Bubbly and anxious, the redhead motioned for the others to sit in a circle, her legs crossed like a thin pretzel. She was pretty under the light, Draco could tell, but her eyes were reddened with the enormous bits of liquor she'd consumed. She purred back at the group, "now, who should go first, hmm?" but her eyes were unquestionably locked with Malfoy's. At once her hand reached out towards his and she said preciously, "why so nervous, lovey?" Pansy's upper lip twitched; for a moment, she looked as if she were about to pull the girl's hair out of her scalp. However, she only reached forward and plucked the redhead's little hand off of Malfoy's, volunteering herself graciously.

However, the blonde interjected politely. "How about you?" She said, cocking her chin towards Draco, who looked as if he'd just been pelted across the face. "He look like you need to be messed around a bit, doesn't he, Margrete?" The redhead, who presumably went by such a name, nodded gleefully and much to Draco's surprise, Pansy leaned back. She folded her arms across her heaving chest and turned towards Malfoy, a twinkling look in the center of her eye.

"Sure, Draco," she smirked, "you should go first. I agree. You _do_ look like you need to have a little _fun _right about now." And she thrust the empty glass into Malfoy's chest, who took it with a grunt. However, he froze with the thing brought up to him and it took Pansy's forceful hand to yank it back to the ground again. Margrete told him to spin the bottle and he waited before he did, giving Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise one last helpless look before doing so. Round and round the bottle spun and when it finally stopped, it pointed directly at Crabbe's lap. Crabbe looked up at once, oddly taken aback and then there was a short moment of silence before Pansy slipped her little wand from behind her coat and mumbled something silently. At once the little glass whirled around one last time and landed will full force at the lap of Margret, who beamed lightly. "Oh," Pansy said with a tiny wink, "lucky girl."

Margrete's blonde friend looked absolutely stricken. She folded her arms across her chest; she had been certain that the bottle was going to point in her direction. Her face flushed when Margret crawled towards Malfoy and she linked her arm through his. Malfoy struggled to get to his feet and as Margret pulled him towards the closet, the blonde let out a little yelp, "remember! Only seven minutes, okay?"

Pansy's voice cut curtly over the blonde's jealous one. "Oh, nonsense!" she hollered at the two, "take all the time you need!" And the door shut loudly behind them.

Draco held his breath, watching the black outline of the redhead search vibrantly for any source of a light outlet. But when Margrete's hands could not find a light switch, she spoke back to him, curiously, "strange house you've got here."

Draco's hand flew instinctively to his wand. If she'd spotted in, even in the dark, he predicted trouble. However, he managed to let himself croak, "it's the only house I've ever known, truly."

"It's _massive." _There was a little thud and he knew that Margrete had flopped her back against the wall. His eyes were adjusting to the lack of light and she looked up at him with glassy eyes. "What do your parents _do, _exactly?" Draco froze, but before he could answer, Margrete took the chance to speak for him. She tossed her hands up in the air and breathed, "with a house like this they could be part of the mafia."

Relief flooded through Malfoy and, unsure what exactly she'd been talking about, he decided to go along with it. "Yes," he said in between heavy breaths, "that's it. My parents are in the mafia." Instantly, Margrete burst out in giggles, but when she did not hear her company return the laughter, she stiffened. Her own eyes adjusted to the dark and she noticed that even in it, the blond boy seemed to glow in his pale exterior. She reached out a hand at once, as if she could not think of anything better to do, and stroked the side of his cheek. Malfoy flinched, but he didn't dare move and he cursed himself for being so submissive. However, the thought of Hermione prevented him from pushing the overzealous teenager into the wall. Nervous and still, he stood plank-like, unsure of what to do next.

"You're so cold," she noted at once and Malfoy's eyes flicked back open. It was not something he had heard said to him ever before, and he wasn't sure whether or not to be offended or relieved that he wasn't the only one who'd noticed it. "Gosh," she said again, "you are freezing." Her hand, however, did not leave Malfoy's cheek and she looked back into his cold, gray eyes.

The only thing Malfoy could muster out was, "sorry," and Margrete shook her head with a little sway. Her smooth red hair slipped over her shoulder sweetly.

"It's not your fault you're cold," she said, lowering her eyebrows in confusion. The little spot between both of her eyebrows wrinkled and her hand moved across his face, feeling his ice-cold skin. "You don't have to be sorry," she said, and it was the first time Malfoy had ever heard anyone say such a thing to him. Of course, he had heard Hermione mutter it to Harry and Ron during his past years at school in the hallways. And while Margrete's version of the phrase did not give him butterflies, he took her polite gesture in with a slight hint of appreciation. To her sweet comment, Draco said nothing, but he didn't move to remove her traveling hand either.

When the two of them had sat there for a moment, she finally let her hand feel down the side of Malfoy's cheek. She let it trickle down to his shoulder and then moved it down to the bottom of his shirt. When she'd found his belt, she reached for the end of his white button up and slipped it out from inside his trousers. Draco's eyes widened; he should be stopping this, but he couldn't find the will to move. He didn't want this and it wasn't that he was at all interested in the girl, and indeed there was something about her that mortified him. Maybe it was because he knew that fate that she would very possibly have cast upon her. It was almost certain that she would be killed in a matter of months, depending on the Dark Lord's success. And, of course, his success was almost certain. Her heavy breath filled the closet and her hand stopped at his belt buckle. Instead, she reached for Malfoy's tiny hand, a hand that should have belonged to a musician, and pulled it to her chest. She waited for him to move, but he only sat there, wide-eyed and horrified.

Margrete instantly took matters into her own hands. She let Malfoy's hand rest stupidly on her chest and she slowly undid each button on her navy blue sweater. When she had finished, she let the thing hang open and stood silently in her plain white brasier. "Is this the first time you've been with a girl?" She asked, as she stepped closer to him. Malfoy dropped his hand from his chest and tried to find the wand in his back pocket. However, when he hand was left empty, panic flooded through his chest; he hadn't heard it clatter to the ground, but he was sure that it had. In his chest, his wild heart skipped a beat.

He wished himself evil. He wish that he didn't care about the well being of the Muggle girl and her friends in the Muggle World. But more than anything he wished he could forget about Hermione Granger. Margrete yanked the waist of his black trousers down at they fell to his ankles. He turned a harsh shade of pink and looked up at her with both eyes squinted. However, her main focus was now on his pale boxers, printed repeatedly with the largely printed word, 'Slytherin'. On his chilly chest, she let her hand quiver. She said in a voice between her useless panting that was barely a whisper, "Slytherin? What's a 'Slytherin'?"

"C-Custom," Malfoy said on instinct. "They're custom." Again he didn't move and the feeling of sheer panic rushed through him. He could hex her right now and make Pansy and the others happy if he could only find his wand, could hex her and put her out of her oncoming misery before Voldemort himself did. Margrete didn't bother to ask why anybody in the right mind would order custom boxers with a word printed on them, let alone a word so made up. Nonetheless, she pushed her body closer. At the sudden impact of closeness, Malfoy reeled back. She was so hot on his ice skin. But instead of taking his steps as a hint, she strode forward again and took Malfoy's white face into her sweaty hands.

Margrete, unknowing and trustful Margrete, she said quietly, "you can kiss me if you want." For a moment Malfoy didn't move and he couldn't believe that she had actually thought he'd be up for such a thing. He'd only just met her! However, as he thought more of Hermione, something about him made him think he was surely the _proper_ thing to do. He swallowed a rather large lump in his throat. Disbelief flooded throughout his entire body, he wasn't actually considering doing so, was he? In the depths of his mind, he wondered whether or not Hermione would find it socially acceptable. He wondered for a moment whether or not he should do so out of pity. Due to her inevitable end, of course. However, he must have spent quite some time thinking the option over because before he could even come to a suitable conclusion, Margrete pulled herself away from him and gave him a solemn look in return.

"You're not going to, are you?" She asked, pushing her hair back behind her ears. She looked positively hurt, something Malfoy had truly not wanted her to be. As if anyone could snap out of being intoxicated, she seemed to do so. Her posture straightened and she looked one hundred percent sober as her eyes searched his face. "You don't want to kiss me?" It was almost as if she had never been rejected before, but instead of thrusting herself out of the closet door, she remained still, waiting for any sort of answer.

"No," Malfoy finally said, and he slipped his foot across the floor in hopes of coming into contact with his wand. What was he thinking? Pansy and the others were out there waiting. They had fully expected him to emerge from it, presenting her with a pair of abnormally large front teeth or, better yet, a face covered in acne. But he'd done nothing of the sort. Worst of all, he'd let her take things farther than he'd ever wished them to go. Despite himself, he was embarrassed standing there with his black trousers down at his ankles. He felt vulnerable standing there in his silver and white boxer shorts. He wasn't even sure how long he'd been in the closet with the girl in the first place. Gently, he said back to her, "It's-- I've only just met you. I don't know anything about you."

Margrete looked as if she'd never heard such a thing in her entire young life. Her hands limply at her side, she stood there in her open sweater. "So?" She said dumbfounded, "since when has that ever been a problem? Haven't you ever heard of hooking up?" Her face was flustered and she had clearly been offended. However, she spoke back to him, still whispering, "it's not uncommon."

"I have heard of them." Draco replied, shaking his head. "I don't just 'hook up' with girls I just met." He said the word as if he truly _hadn't _heard of it before. But Margrete still looked absolutely mortified. She did not bother to rearrange herself, and neither did Malfoy, who was too stunned to even move.

"What is it?" She said silently. "What's wrong with me?"

From outside, Margrete's friend called, "Aren't you two _done_ in there yet?" And even though it was dark, Malfoy saw Margrete's face flush a red that matched her vibrant hair. At the other side of the door, Pansy must have brushed the girl's worry away because it went silent almost instantly.

They stared at each other until Malfoy realized that she had truly wanted an answer to her last question. "Nothing," he said, "nothing. It's just--" for a moment he paused and then he shut his eyes. There was not a place in the world that he wouldn't rather be. Give him the Crutiatius curse all over again and it would not amount to this. However, instead of finishing, he asked with his eyes still shut, "can I pull my trousers back up now?"

The girl across from him nodded in the darkness. "Sure," she said hoarsely. At once Malfoy whisked his pants back up and tucked his shirt back in with a great amount of force. He couldn't help the color that flooded to his face. What would his parents do if they found out? Just years ago, Malfoy would have practically murdered _himself! _He still looked rather unkempt when he'd finished stuffing his shirt back into his pants. But she looked back at him, as if expecting something else to suddenly happen. Then, Margrete seemed to snap back to reality. Her own loose arms fluttered back up to her sweater and she desperately buttoned it up to the highest button. With the extra ponytail holder around her thin wrist, she pulled her hair back, as if the gesture would make her less humiliated.

"Stupid." She said to herself, "stupid, stupid, stupid. I'm sorry, D-Draco, is it?" Malfoy nodded his face up and down like a bobble-head. "I've had too much to drink. I don't even know where they bloody hell in London this _is, anyway." _She flopped backwards and followed the wall all the way to the floor. When she'd reached the bottom, she slapped her clammy forehead, "Gosh, I'm such an idiot."

Malfoy stared down at her for several moments before sinking to the floor with her. When he'd come to her level in an awkward squat, he placed a cold hand on her shoulder. Even through the thickness of her cardigan, Margrete seemed to finch at his lack of heat. However, she didn't move. "It really doesn't have anything to do with you," Malfoy whispered, "truth be told, I'm in love with someone else."

Margrete blinked. "Oh, come off it."

"It's true," he offered, shaking his head.

"Oh yea?" Margrete's face was red, however it wasn't due to her embarrassment. "That girl outside, is it?" But when Malfoy once again shook his head no, Margrete's blood seemed to excessively boil. "Then why isn't she here then? Why isn't she here right now?"

Malfoy paused. He wasn't actually considering of think about opening up to some random girl, let alone a Muggle. But something inside him longed to. And, despite himself, he found himself rather keen towards her, other than her habit of being unquestionably abrasive. Malfoy sighed and then he said back to her, "she's not-- she's not my family's type."

"How can your family not like a type of person? Are you racists or something? A bunch of white supremacists?"

"What? Merlin, no!" Malfoy almost shrieked.

Margrete's eyes averted in the black closet. She shook her head. "What is she, then? Hm? Some other race?" But when Malfoy only shook his head again, Margrete's eye twitched in a way that signaled that she was obviously disturbed. Curiously, she hissed, "Is she a mutt? Some sort of _animal_? Cause I don't judge, but I'm going to have to side with your parents on that one. I would have never guessed you'd be into beastiality."

Malfoy did a double take. What a strange girl she was. "No. No, absolutely not!" he coughed, as if he might have been punched in the stomach. Did he give off such an impression? "Ugh, no, of _course_ not."

"I take it you're not going to further elaborate." And when Malfoy shook his head, Margrete looked as if she were about to cry.

At once, Malfoy was taken back. He had not wanted such a thing to happen, had not wanted such a thing at all. However, Margrete leaned forward, still intoxicated beyond repair, and pressed her sweating forehead into Malfoy's frail chest. When the crown of her head came in contact with Malfoy, she let her shoulders bob up and down and she could not mask the little sobs that protruded from her throat. Outside the closet door, back in the basement, Malfoy was positive that Pansy and the others were liking the sounds they were hearing. He whispered low so none of them could hear, "no, no, p-please don't c-cry."

His comforting had not quite worked. However, Malfoy certainly did not have much practice with trying to cheer people up. When she continued to cry on his chest, he only sat there, wondering what to do with her next. He lifted one of his shaky hands and wondered whether or not he should run it through her blazing red hair. "How can I not cry?" Margrete sobbed, "I've just completely embarrassed myself. I'm humiliated and _drunk_ and I've made myself into an absolute fool." Poor, unknowing, unsuspecting Margrete. He wondered if she'd known the truth, whether or not she'd take his rejection so hard. Hermione sure wouldn't have cared less. He, of all people, knew she should despise him. And if she didn't, he assured himself that she would eventually. "You must think I'm a complete moron!" Between each pathetic cry, Margrete hiccuped.

"No, I don't. Y-you're not a fool, alright?"

His comforting plan, as it so seemed, did not work. At once Margrete whipped her head up and stared up at him, more angry than ever. "And why not?" She hissed. "You and I both know that I've made a complete mockery of myself tonight. Oh yes, don't try to pretend otherwise, Dra-co." The way she'd pronounced his name, she seemed to push it hurriedly from her fast moving lips.

Malfoy's eyes fell. He caught sight of his feet, sitting properly in a pair of polished black shoes. In the night of the closet, they shone perfectly. His parents would be so proud. As his eyes scanned the floor, he finally caught sight of it, his fallen wand, waiting for him just several inches to his right. He said back to her in a soothing voice. "If anyone's the fool around here, it's me. I know you don't understand, but I can assure you- I do not think less of you."

As if he'd just thrust her a bouquet of a dozen roses, Margret looked at him surprised. Sniffling, she sat up straight and didn't bother to try and regain herself. In all her messy, tearful glory, she whispered slowly back at him. "You're strange."

Malfoy blinked and then, when he found the time to speak, he shrugged, "probably am."

At once Margrete pulled herself to a standing position. She quivered on the floor before she reached out to fix her hair and muttered to herself as to how she wished there was some sort of lighting. When she tried to get herself back in order, Malfoy's fingers found his stick-like wand and he pulled it up from the ground slowly, holding it behind his back at the ready. They stood in the closet for several moments and when Margrete had finally pulled herself back together, she reached her hand out and touched the shoulder of Draco Malfoy. This time, she did not flinch at the chilly temperature he emitted. "I didn't mean it in a bad way, you know." Her smile was warm, despite the trails of tears that ran down her solemn face, "you're a good kind of strange. You know what I can tell, even though I don't know you?"

Malfoy shook his head, but he remained rather curious.

"I can tell that you're a good person. Right here," and her hand slunk to Malfoy's chest, right over his thumping heart. Poor, Margrete. Poor, gullible and pitiful Margrete. She didn't even know how wrong she was. Didn't even know how far off base she had really been. At her compliment, Draco's heart sunk and he truly felt as if he could flop to the ground and cry himself. However, he managed a meek little smile, and what a pathetic smile it was. On his face, he wore nothing but faux pride. Oh, how wrong she truly was.

Draco Malfoy knew what he had to do and he wasted no time. Just as Margrete turned around and headed towards the door, he lifted up his wand and said aloud, "_Stupefy!" _And at once she slunk over and slid to the floor with a little thud. When he came through the door carrying the girl, he was not shocked to find her blonde friend passed out in the center of the large basement. However, after his night, he truly hadn't expected her to be completely covered in a foul case of acne. Pansy looked Margrete over and at once she noticed the tears covering the girls otherwise pale face. When she turned back to Draco, she said gleefully, "Crutatious Curse? Draco, you're brilliant!"

"I knew you hadn't lost your touch!" Goyle cheered, and he raised his glass up triumphantly.

Malfoy waved his wand and the blonde floated up from the ground. Her body whirled back into the right position and as she hovered over the ground she gave out a loud snore. "Of course I haven't lost my touch," Malfoy said, but his voice was quiet. "I'm going to go take them back," he said, "before you three get us caught."

Pansy let her own hand touch the brim of Draco's shoulder and she said confidently, "the Dark Lord would be so _pleased_."

Draco mentally shook his throbbing head. Voldemort surely would not have been pleased with him. In fact, he highly doubted that.

There was a loud pop as Draco vanished from the basement entirely, his arms around the unconscious torsos of each of the girls. He stood supporting them both in the midsts of a dark and quiet forest. He knew he had to be somewhere safe in the Muggle world. Around him, he heard the faint sound of the buzzing streets of London, the late nighters finally heading home. Striding forward, he led himself with the two Muggles out through the forest and into the view of the busy town. Sweating, he placed each girl on the seat of a wooden bench and turned his back to the crowd. When the voice of a hefty man roared through his ears, Draco didn't dare reveal his face. "Oy! You there!" The man cried, rushing forward at the sight of the unconscious girls. "What the _hell _is going on? Oy! Get back here!"

But before the man could reach him, Malfoy had vanished.

**-****-----------------------------------------**

While he vanished from the Muggle world, he did not Apperate back to his house, nor anywhere close to it for that matter. Instead he found himself standing on the almost deserted streets of Hogsmeade. It had been a while since anyone had dared to go out into those streets, and it was partially his fault. School would be starting soon and Malfoy shuttered as he thought about how different it would be. A nasty chill crawled up his spine and all he could think about was the voice that was echoing around his skull. _"You're a good person, I can tell." _Yeah, well, she was far beyond drunk.

Malfoy lifted his foot slowly and began his miserable walk home. Each step was rather unwilling, but the more he moved, the more he found that he was probably more drunk than both the Muggle girls combined. Inside his head, his thoughts were fuzzy and he almost missed the small shadow in the corner as he stumbled on by. There she was. He saw her dizzily out of his side vision. Hermione Jean Granger was sitting on the curb, her head in her hands. She shook her head and her fingers nestled in the locks of her bushy hair and she didn't bother to look up when Draco froze across from her. He tried to hold his breath. Cursing his stupidity, he wished himself sober in chances that he might think of something better to do at the moment. If they had known each other on different circumstances, he would kneel down next to her and push her head back up.

However, what he did do was the cowardly thing. He pushed himself further in the shadows and when he felt the time right, sent flying a small pebble in her direction. When the little rock stopped several inches in front of her, only then did Hermione look up. She was beautiful even in the dark and he vibrant eyes caught sight of every part of the sparkling moon. "Who is there?" She said and Draco was instantly taken back by her courage. Transfixed, he stood still, but Hermione only leaned forward. "I see see you," she called out to the mysterious figure that was in fact Draco Malfoy. "Come out here! I have my wand!" She said the last bit as a threat and even though Malfoy surely had one of his own, he fearfully felt his heart fall. From the shadows he stepped as if he'd been caught, the dark baggy hood reached low and covered everything but the bottom of his pale chin.

"Sorry, miss," Draco said, sheepishly, "it's dangerous out now. You can never be too careful."

Hermione's eye gave a little twitch and she leaned forward. In a little whisper, she asked, "who are you under there?" But Malfoy shook his head. As he did so, the hefty black fabric moved along with him.

"Prefer to remain unknown, actually." He breathed and he felt his heart beat tremendously. What was he thinking? He should have Apperated straight home or, at least, should be walking away from Hermione right now. However, he could do nothing of the sort. In fact, he found himself rooted to the spot and when Hermione tapped the ground next to her, a cursed himself for moving toward her. He took his seat and pressed his eyes shut. Inside his chest, his heart was a pounding and angry drum.

"I know what you mean," Hermione said to the figure that she believed to be a perfect stranger. "It's insane. I can't even feel safe here. And this," she motioned with her hands to the streets of Hogsmeade lovingly, "this is my second home. Everyone is supposed to feel safe at home." Draco Malfoy couldn't remember the last time he'd felt safe at the Manor. She said curiously, "what brings you out so late at night?"

Instantly, Draco coughed, "strolling. Just wanted to see Hogsmeade one last time before it went to hell."

"You know," Hermione admitted out loud, "that's the exact same reason I'm out here." With one last sigh, she shook her head timidly, "well, I best be going. You never now who'll come strolling around these parts this late at night." Hermione's voice was grave and solemn and she sounded as if she hadn't been happy for several weeks. Of course, with the Wizarding world's fate pretty much set in stone, he hadn't seen a sane person in high hopes in quite a long while. "I guess I'll see you around." As a friendly gesture, Hermione held out her tiny hand and Draco stared at it for a moment as if she were doing so threateningly. Meekly, he took it and waited for her to stumble backwards at the instant chilliness that flooded through her arm.

She did not move a muscle. "Nice to meet you," she said and the warmth of her hand seemed to travel smoothly up the arm that belonged to Draco Malfoy.

"Yeah," Draco said quietly. "It was nice to meet you too." And he watched Hermione's hand slip from his. She turned from the spot slowly and after making her way down the street some several feet, she once again spun around. Her hair whipped around her pretty little face and Malfoy's stomach did millions of anxious flips. The butterflies nesting in the pit of him, seemed to try and escape through his open mouth.

"You take care of yourself, okay?" Hermione Granger called back to him.

But all he could manage to say back was, "I will." Even though he wasn't too sure of it himself. She turned to walk away again but before he could stand to see her walk away, he called back. "You do so, as well, okay?"

And Hermione called back, "okay."

Once again she turned to leave but the pleading voice that came from the cloaked stranger made her spin once again around on her heels. He said in a voice that sounded like a desperate plea, "promise me?" And Hermione froze on the spot. She stared at the figure for a long moment and when he'd only remained sitting there, she nodded her head.

Over the whirling wind that drove her hair across her pale face, she called back, "I promise!" And a little smile broke out across her lovely visage. For a moment the two stood across from one another and then, without wasting another moment, Hermione Granger was gone with a little pop. Gone from Hogsmeade, gone from the streets, and gone from the longing vision of Draco Malfoy. After she had left, Draco sat on the curb by himself. A lonely black figure, he watched the lights of the street fade to black. And there he was, alone in the whirling wind, but all he could hear was the voice of Hermione that echoed like a chorus through his restless mind. She'd promised, and he'd make she that she would keep that promise.

While he sat there in solitude, reviewing the night's events back over in his mind, Draco Malfoy managed a little smile-- the first one he'd managed in months. And maybe he didn't end up spending seven minutes in the closet with the Muggle girl, but he'd spent surely about seven minutes on the curb remembering that promise.

And that promise, he decided, was Heaven enough.


End file.
